


Blame the Pencil

by Townycod13



Category: South Park
Genre: happy bday kiiexo! :D, psychic kyle, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 21:47:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14986295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Townycod13/pseuds/Townycod13
Summary: Five times Kyle denied his abilities and one time he accepted it.





	Blame the Pencil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiiexo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiiexo/gifts).



> Happy B-day Kiiexo!! :D Thanks for being a pal<3 I hope you have an awesome day :3

1--

The room feels too tight, too constraining, like a cage without bars. Kyle tries not to pay it any mind.

He tries not to pay a lot of things any mind.

He’s definitely not looking at the pencil floating in the corner of the room. Nope. It could stay stationary in space about a foot over the ground for all it wanted and Kyle would still refuse to pay attention to it.

Because it had to be a prank of some kind. Pencils don’t float.

Assholes like Cartman, on the other hand, have a way of pulling exceptionally dumb pranks in the name of proving ridiculous points. So Cartman probably broke into his room, again, and planted a crazy prank pencil.

That was the only explanation.

The room felt tighter and Kyle ignored that too.

His body, illogically as it might seem, felt the desire to expand. Reach out. Feel.

That was stupid though so he was going to stay at his desk, thank you very much, and not think about how the pencil started floating after he thought about picking it up. Froze at the same moment that Kyle’s blood froze over at the sight of it.

There is no such thing as psychic powers and the pencil definitely wasn’t floating because his brain was telling it to.

He wasn’t telling the damn pencil to do anything.

The room felt so small.

2--

Well there was no denying that _something_ hinky was going on at this point. Tough he’d be hard pressed to really say he was the one responsible.

Sure, it was Eric Cartman that had been flung back by a seemingly invisible force. And yeah, maybe Cartman had it coming. But that didn’t actually mean _Kyle_ was the one responsible.

It still could be like, a ghost or something. Or an elaborate prank.

Or literally _anything_ but proof that he was somehow ‘gifted’.

Besides, everyone else wasn’t looking at him. There were looking for trip wires like any logical human might.

“Dude, your nose is bleeding.” Stan’s voice cut into his thoughts.

Taunting him, the red liquid dripped down his chin and he _didn’t_ sigh in frustration only because opening his mouth to do so would allow gross snot blood into his mouth.

He glared at his imaginary opponent, his own mind, trying to somehow sneer to himself.

 _This proves nothing_!

3--

He was starting to get headaches, here and there, when Kenny skipped school.

It was putting him in a foul mood which in turn caused more not-floating pencils and aggressively retreating snow.

Like the weather itself didn’t want to catch him on the warpath.

He took it out on Kenny, like a good friend shouldn’t, because clearly the headaches were somehow related to the other boys poor study habits.

“Where the fuck were you yesterday?!” he demanded, never bothering to question his right to know the answer.

Kenny’s eyes were bright and confused beneath the hood that hid away most of his features.

“Six feet under--” something in Kyle skipped, like a broken record, “--your mom.” Kenny finished without shame, grinning from ear to ear.

“Dude, sick!” Stan said and that was all.

Kenny-headaches were peculiar. The frustration of forgetting something mixed with the throbbing of pain in his skull.

Like something wanted out.

4--

Great. The mug was broken. Shattered into a million pieces on the Marsh’s nice island counter.

“Dude, what happened in here?” Stan was followed by the other two, looking quizzically at the seemingly exploded glass literal feet from where Kyle stood.

Kyle shrugged, somewhat helplessly, “Don’t know.”

It was honest. He didn’t know.

He had suspicions though and he didn’t like them.

He watched numbly as his friends went about cleaning the mess of hot choco. Kenny and Stan a team work of tissues, water, and sweeping up glass while Cartman bitched and micromanaged.

He hadn’t done that.

The timing could be considered suspicious, what with Cartman making some terrible joke at his expense only moments before the glass burst, but that was a coincidence.

Right?

It had to be.

5--

“You okay, dude?”

Kyle gave the orange clad boy a quizzical look. It wasn’t really often that Kenny approached him like this. Truthfully it felt more and more like Kenny put a distance between himself and everyone else.

Or was it the other way around?

Either way, Kyle didn’t know how to answer.

On one hand, his back didn't hurt because his backpack straps were floating just barely above his shoulders. On the other hand he still hadn’t the foggiest idea why.

“I’m fine.” he settled for the tried and true response.

Kenny didn’t look convinced but he didn’t press, giving Kyle’s shoulder a gentle pat.

“I’m here if you need anything, dude.”

“I won’t.” Kyle assured, with slightly more intensity than necessary. Kenny’s brows furrowed and he removed the offending hand.

Whatever words were said next were too muffled by the hood to be understood as Kenny walked away but Kyle figured it wasn’t pleasant. Kenny was a chill dude but he didn’t have a lot of patience for rude assholes.

His back was still spared the pain of his bag but his mind wasn’t spared the spiraling thoughts that took over.

He wasn’t--- There was no such thing.

He was sure.

The trickle of blood the began to trail down his chin was roughly swiped away using his sleeve.

+1--

He stared at the pencil.

It, for once, sat stationary on his desk like  a normal pencil ought to but he didn’t buy it.

It all started with this floating bastard.

Perhaps, if he stared for long enough it would provide the answers he wanted. Perhaps, if he stared long enough, someone would come out and explain the prank.

Instead it remained on the desk. Motionless. Inanimate.

His phone buzzed and he gave up his staring contest in favor of answering the text message.

The information in the text was blurred, a skip in the record, and Kyle felt a familiar type of headache building.

The pencil embedded itself in the opposite wall, twanging in response to the sudden force of emotion that had thrown it from it’s stationary position.

Kyle looked up from the text and this time he did sigh, accidentally letting in the warm metallic liquid.

“Ew.” he spit and went to get a tissue.

He supposed there wasn’t really any denying it at this point. At least to himself.

He knew what was causing the pencil to behave erratically.

His room felt small and he felt unnerved.

This wouldn’t be a change, at least not visibly, at least not to anyone else, but privately, he knew that he’d have to treat this problem seriously.

Eleven years old and Kyle accepted that, yes, maybe he was psychic.


End file.
